The bus lurched forward, pulling away from the obstacle field.
Gray evening light filtered through mud-splattered windows.
Outside, production vans followed like silent sentinels, their headlights cutting through gathering dusk.
Inside—nothing but exhaustion.
No one spoke. The usual chaos of trainees reduced to scattered breathing and the steady hum of the engine.
Someone coughed wetly three rows back. Another trainee shifted positions, plastic seat creaking.
My ears still rang from exertion, a hollow pressure that wouldn't release.
I pressed my forehead against the cold window glass, watching the city blur past.
Every blink brought fragments—Yuhyun's hand reaching for the Heaven gate. Jisoo's triumphant shout as Twisted Circus sealed.
The red counter flipping to FULL, locking me inside with eight alphas.
Theatrical fog from the obstacle field clung to my clothes, synthetic and cloying. It mixed with mud, sweat, and failing suppressants into something nauseating.
